


Whatever You Need

by AugustApollo



Category: Years & Years, Years & Years (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustApollo/pseuds/AugustApollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I will do anything you need. But you need to tell me, Olly. You tell me, and I will do it."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Olly has made it so far, and there is no way in hell Emre would let him go back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever You Need

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Olly's honesty that he has experienced anxiety disorder and depression, and that he overcame it with medication and professional help. These things never really leave you. This is my take on how Mikey and Emre help him overcome his fears.

The crowd outside is getting thicker, getting louder. They can be heard from inside the dressing rooms. Emre is sitting on the vanity counter, stretching his fingers. Mikey is tuning his bass guitar on the white couch. Danny is jumping to and fro in a corner to avoid bumping into anyone. The back up singers are harmonizing and vocalizing by the door. Emre is just mindlessly staring at everyone, trying not to be worried that their vocalist was nowhere to be found. 

Olly disappeared a few minutes ago, but they know for a fact that he should be in the area because they had started getting ready together. His phone rang and he bolted without sparing a glance or excuse as to what he was doing. Emre taps restlessly on his knee as the booming crowd makes the walls vibrate. 

Olly walks, no, stomps in wordlessly. His hands are shaking more than usual, almost like something was about to rip out underneath the skin. His eyes flicked from one person to another without seeing anything. He couldn’t stand still. Olly immediately began vocalizing, but his fingers and feet and eyes could not stop moving. He reeked of smoke and fear. Emre and Mikey exchanged a look and gently shifted from their positions. 

“Hey, guys. Let’s run that thing we talked about a while ago?” Mikey addressed Danny and the singers. Olly didn’t bother turning around from his corner of the room. In a not so subtle way (because Olly couldn’t even see them), Mikey gestured for them all to follow him out slowly. There was a stillness in the room as no one dared to make a sound as they exited. When the door was silently shut, Emre padded over slowly to Olly. The room was pregnant with Olly's crystal notes and immense anger. With no one present to dilute the emotion, it washed over Emre in full force with every step. Not wanting to starting him, he cleared his throat when he was in touching distance. Olly jumped at the sound. 

“Hey. Where'd you go?” he spoke softly and slowly, afraid to break the glassy cover of Olly's eyes. He could barely look at him.

“You know, there. Around. I guess.” Olly spoke in nervous and fragmented whispers. His vocalization did nothing to loosen the invisible grip over his throat. Each word was strangled and breathy. Emre tried to quell the knives that punctured his lungs at the sight of the broken boy.

“What’s going on, Olly?”

No response. Not even a look. The ground was entertaining to Olly.

“Olly, come on.” He tried again, pleading. Emre was all too aware that they would take the stage soon. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. What are you talking about?” The glass in his eyes were replaced by concrete walls. He could practically hear the sound of prison bars clicking into place. Olly crossed his arms over his chest. Emre let out a growl.

“We’re not doing this, man. Not tonight.” He met his steely gaze with an equal one. “You can’t go out like this. We can’t. What just happened?” 

“It's sorted.” Olly cocked his head to the side in an attempt to look smug. Emre saw right through the bullshit. 

“The hell it is. Have you seen yourself? Stop lying to me. Who do you think I am?” Emre grabbed his shoulder, shaking some sense, maybe his anger, into Olly.

“Do you need your meds? Do we need to cancel? Do we need a doctor?” He stares at him earnestly, hoping he doesn’t take any of this the wrong way. The ice in Olly's eyes melts, but he still says nothing.

“You know I normally wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. But we are running out of time here, Olls. We go on in a few minutes, but there is no way in hell I will let you walk out like this. Do you need help? We can get help. Help is good.“ He grips his shoulders tightly, like Olly might float away if he let’s go. Thankfully, Olly holds the hands on his shoulders, holding Emre for dear life. 

“I will only ask one more time. If you lie to me again, I will cancel this show. Whatever it is, Olls, you can have it. Have fucking everything. Whatever it is, I will fix it. But first, you need to tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.” He watches as Olly swallow thickly, keeping his eyes on his long neck and showy Adam's apple. He doesn’t meet his gaze, knowing that his eyes will set a fire through his veins. 

It takes a while for him to answer. They stood there for God knows how long, with Emre's hands on his shoulders, and Olly's hands over his. His words made the deafening silence deflate. 

“He’s here. We talked.” Emre looks up. Olly is afraid. He's broken somehow.

“And…?” He searches his eyes, looking for what he needs. 

“And what?” He looks lost. Emre ignores the shattering in his chest. The knives plunge a little deeper, making it hard to breathe. 

“What do you need me to do?” Olly's eyes widen and he shakes his head furiously. Emre lets out another angry growl. He catches his chin and makes him look him.

“We can fix this. Let me fix this. I will do anything you need. But you need to tell me, Olly. You tell me, and I will do it.” He could see the darkness recede a fraction in his eyes.

Not tonight, Emre thinks. Just not tonight. Olly has been handling his demons so well, and he cannot go back. He won’t let anything and anyone hurt him if he can help it. He swallows slowly. 

“Fuck, just tell me. Tell me.” Emre shakes him again. The words dislodge themselves from Olly's throat. 

“Make him leave.” He chokes out, like the words were on fire that burned his throat and he belched out smoke. Emre doesn’t need to be told twice. With a nod, he leaves the room.

Emre comes back mere seconds until they come on, taking his place in their pre-show circle. There was no time for questions or imploring looks. Olly tried to meet his eyes, but Emre was too bothered with the floor. And anyway, it was far too dark to see.

The show goes off without a hitch. The first few notes of Foundation kick in, and Olly could almost forget the last 20 minutes. He allows the music to transport him elsewhere, a higher place where their music is greater than this world. He dances like no one is watching, like his heels can take him up to heaven at any second. Somewhere between songs, he makes a mental note to do something special for Emre some time. Something nice for his everyday hero.

Olly was too transfixed by the crowd to notice much of anything else. But Mikey could see all too clearly on the sidelines. He could see the swell of dancing bodies, moving with Olly like he is some magician controlling the tide. He could see Olly's carefree smile, a million miles away from how he looked a while ago. And he can’t be entirely certain, but for a split second when the strobe light hit him, he thinks he saw a thin line of blood drip from Emre's lip.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you like it! Please leave a note and let me know what you think!


End file.
